


Late Autumn Afternoon

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: holmes_minor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Watson is relaxing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Autumn Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's Holmes Minor Monthly Prompt "Relaxation"

Dr Watson stretched out his stockinged feet towards the fire and wriggled his toes.  His slippers were next to his chair, and he would put his feet in them in a minute, but for this instant he was enjoying the luxury of doing nothing but allowing the heat to permeate his body.  The day had begun early, and, with the combination of Holmes’ current case and his own patients, this was the first time he had had a moment to himself.  
  
Mrs Hudson had brought up some tea and a plate of toast, which she had placed on the table within easy reach.  He was currently enjoying the first slice of toast, and letting the butter dribble down onto his fingers.  There was a pot of homemade raspberry jam on the tray, and shortly he would spread some on his second slice, but he always felt there was something particularly appealing in the first slice of buttered toast.  
  
Next to the tray lay his novel and his pipe and tobacco pouch.  Later, when Holmes returned he would no doubt bring the evening papers, but for now Watson was happy to cut himself off from the world.   
  
The late autumn afternoon light was already fading, but the lamps had yet to be lit outside.  He had told Mrs Hudson he would light their lamps when he was ready, preferring instead to sit in the growing darkness, illuminated only by the firelight.  There were times when the darkness could feel threatening, or almost oppressive, but at the end of a crisp afternoon it felt more like a comforting blanket enveloping him.  
  
He looked at the flames of the fire and let his mind wander.  How many times had he sat in the same chair, either by himself, or with Holmes, or Lestrade, and lately sometimes Hopkins, enjoying the peace in the middle of the tumultuous city?  He stretched slightly and felt his muscles relax even further.  Some of his acquaintances maintained it was impossible to relax in the city.  They couldn’t have been more mistaken.


End file.
